The Comeback: An MMA Romance Novel (Book Two)

by Thunderbolt, Liberty

  I needed to hang on to why I was training, why I was fighting, why I was desperate. I clicked on the Underground and started a new thread. I titled it Attn: Jordan Powers, and the message was short and sweet. I’m gonna bust you up bad biatch!!!

  If I got a chance to follow through on this latest threat then at least I wouldn’t be the only one who felt fucked up.

  Chapter 19

  I was in the storage room slash locker room, and just an hour or so from fighting Daniel Herman. The kid from Dallas, who was fighting Tyrone Wilson, was in the room as well. Another guy who just got done fighting, plus a handful of others, was there as well. It was crowded and smelled of sweat and testosterone.

  Morris pushed through the door. His bulk took up almost all the frame. He was wearing a new blue blazer. Judging by the way his massive arms stretched the sleeves, it looked like he needed a new tailor. He also looked like he had a lot on his mind.

  He headed straight my way. “Zane, we’ve got to talk.”

  “What’s up, Morris?”

  “Not here.” He grabbed me by the arm and led me toward a door that opened up to a smaller storage area. I was getting a little worried.

  We walked into the dark room, and he dabbed his head with his handkerchief. “Look man, I’ve got to ask. Are you taking any pills right now?”

  There was urgency in Morris’ voice that usually wasn’t there.

  “Naw, Morris. I haven’t been taking anything.”

  “Nothing at all? You’re sure?”

  I thought back to last week when Lorenzo and his cousin showed up with the EPO, and then how I popped the Vicodin. And then how the next morning I took four more pills and skipped my morning workout. I called Mace to tell him I was tired and needed the morning off. He called bullshit, and we argued for a while. I thought I might end up losing my coach, and I felt like hell for letting down Tyson, but that evening we worked it out. So it had been six days ago when I last took pills. I had to fight myself every day since to not take more. I was so glad I hadn’t been dumping the EPO into my body as well.

  “Yeah, I’m sure, Morris. What’s with the fifth degree?”

  “A new guy from the commission showed up not long ago. He’s young and dumb and hungry to make a name. He says he’s testing every damn person on the card.”

  I swallowed hard. “Don’t worry about me,” I managed to say.

  Morris gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Good, Zane. I know you’ve got a lot riding on this…and so do I. I’ve got to talk to a couple other guys. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and he was out the door.

  I seemed to remember Vicodin stayed in piss and blood for just a few days. It had been six days since I took it. Still, I felt thoroughly screwed, and saw my dreams of a comeback for my daughter being pissed right into a little plastic cup.

  I took a couple deep breaths and collected myself before heading back into the main storage room. Tyson Fields was there, ready for me to hit the mitts. “You good brother?” He asked.

  “Yep, let’s do this.”

  He shrugged and held up the pads. I glanced over at the kid from Dallas. He sat in a folding chair and hunched over like he’d had six shots too many. A brown trash can was next to him, and his corner man paced back and forth. He’d struggled through a really hard cut and didn’t make weight until his third try. Now he looked like he’d been having sex with Death himself.

  Morris was lumbering away from him and across the room toward me. He had an even more worried look on his face than earlier. I caught his eye.

  “Sick as hell,” he said to me, “but he says he can fight.”

  For Morris’ sake I hoped he was right. And for my sake I hoped I was right about how long Vicodin stayed in my system.

  Chapter 20

  Herman was taller and more muscular than I remembered. He stood across the cage from me and stared at nothing in particular. He never was one to try to intimidate with a mean face, and I respected that. He was a professional, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to beat his professional ass.

  Jerry walked over to me. “Let me see your mouthpiece, Zane.”

  I bared mouthpiece-covered teeth in response, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  He then walked over to Herman and did the same thing. For the last hour I wrestled with the idea of being tested as soon as this fight was over. It was a crappy thing to be thinking of just before what was really my biggest fight to date. I of course also had to deal with thoughts of Leeza and Lorenzo, and his big cousin, who was sitting next to them in the first row.

  About five seats from them, sat Elizabeth. I knew she was my anchor, but at the moment I felt ashamed to look at her.

  Jerry was now in the center of the cage. I had seconds to pull it together, or I was going to get beat up.

  “Let’s fight!” Jerry yelled.

  Daniel Herman and I touched gloves, and then I circled to the right. He followed and pawed at the air in front of me. Then like a cannon he shot for a double. I tried to sprawl, but it was too late. Ten seconds in, and I was scrambling to maintain guard. I was close to the fence and worked my way toward it.

  Herman shifted his weight and looked to pass. I struggled to keep him in my guard and found the fence. He punched me in the chin. He punched me in the ear.

  I shifted my hips and exploded against his weight and the fence. I got to a knee, and he punched me again. I squirmed up the fence and got to my feet. The crowd went crazy.

  He leaned against me in the clinch. We fought like this for a few seconds until I got the opportunity to turn him around. Now I was pressing him against cage, and the crowd grew louder.

  My breathing was heavy, and my heart thrashed at my ribcage. Getting out from under Herman had winded me. I leaned on him and took a few deep breaths. The crowd grew a little restless.

  He tried to work into a position for another takedown, but I’d recovered. I pushed off and stayed in the pocket and opened up with a flurry. My left caught his jaw. My right was square on the nose. A left hook to the body, he leaned that way, a right above his eye landed hard.

  He slid to his right to avoid the onslaught. I did the same, except moved to my left and cut him off. He threw a weak jab. I slipped it and replied with a straight right on his chin. He stumbled a bit, and I used the moment to throw a kick to his thigh. He stumbled again. I delivered a left, then a right, then a left.

  Daniel Herman fell, and I was in his guard. He threw his legs up hoping to catch something. I didn’t give him the chance. Two more punches and he was open for some elbows. One, two, three to the forehead. The blood started spilling, and to my complete shock he tapped the canvas. “I’m done. I’m done,” he said.

  I stood up and raised my arms. The whole fight lasted two minutes and seven seconds.

  I walked over to the camera, again the fight was streaming on Sherdog, and smiled. “That’s going to be you real soon, Jordan.”

  Moments later, I made my way through the throng of excited fans. They high-fived me and asked for photos. I took as many as I could. Finally, I made it back to the storage room. I wanted to get the tape off and change shirts so I could watch the main event. I really wanted another crack at Tyrone Wilson as soon as possible if I didn’t somehow land in the UCC. I pushed open the storage room door to find Morris and the guy from the commission in a heated debate.

  I hadn’t even pissed in cup yet, so I gathered that it wasn’t about me.

  Chapter 21

  The guy from the commission said, “Just look at him. I’m not going to let him fight.”

  “He’s my main event, and he says he’s good.”

  Morris’ blazer was off, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. His face was bright red. He had about 200 pounds and five inches on the commission guy, but he wasn’t intimidating him at all.

  “I don’t care what he says, Morris. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that kid get into the cage. He threw up just 15 minutes ago!”

&
nbsp; “This is bullshit,” Morris said, “think you can come in here and run my event.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m looking out for this kid, and he isn’t fighting. The card is done!”

  “I’ll take the fight,” I said.

  Both Morris and commission guy stopped and looked at me.

  “I’m good to go, and I want to fight Tyrone again.”

  “That’s just as crazy,” The commission guy said.

  “No it’s not,” this time it was Morris, “He barely broke a sweat, and we used to run tournaments all the time before the damn commission came along.”

  “This isn’t the dark ages anymore. He just fought ten minutes ago.”

  “Look, I’m good,” I said. “That was an easy fight, and I’ve got nothing wrong. No cuts, no bruises, my hands are fine. Let me fight.”

  The guy looked like he wasn’t sure what to do. Morris picked up the argument. “There isn’t anything in the bylaws that states you can’t fight back to back, is there?”

  “I don’t know,” the guy looked like he doubted himself. “I’d have to call somebody with the commission who would know.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Morris said. “It’s already time for the main event. Make it happen, Herb.”

  Now I knew commission guy’s name. “Herb, let Doctor Graham check me out. When he says I’m good to go it won’t come back on you.”

  Herb rubbed the back of his neck and thought for a few seconds. “If the doctor clears you, I guess it is okay.”

  With Herb looking on, Dr. Graham checked me out thoroughly. He checked my eyes, looked in my mouth, pushed on my face with his tobacco-stained bony fingers, pushed on my hands, and asked a few questions. Still, the whole thing took just a minute.

  “He’s good to fight, nothing wrong with him at all,” Graham told Herb.

  Then Morris came back in the room. He’d been talking with Tyrone Wilson. He was smiling, and we all had our answer. Wilson was willing to fight me again. I would be getting a shot at revenge much sooner than I had expected.

  Chapter 22

  I faced the storage room door and waited to be told to make my entrance. Mace and Tyson were with me. “Listen, Zane, you’ve got to walk out like you’re tired and hurt,” Mace said. “Play possum. Let Tyrone think you’re weak.”

  It was a good idea.

  “Yeah, and then as soon as you touch gloves go batshit crazy on him,” this time it was Tyson, “but look out for the uppercut.”

  This was a good idea as well.

  “He’s probably going to want to ease into it,” Mace added. “This change is a shock to him, too.”

  In a matter of minutes it seemed we had formulated our game plan.

  “What if he comes out batshit crazy, too?” I asked.

  “Then beat him to the punch,” Tyson replied.

  Just then, we heard the crowd begin to groan and boo from the other side of the door. Morris was making an announcement in the cage, but through the door his voice was muffled. Obviously he’d just told the crowd about the kid from Dallas being sick and unable to fight. A few seconds later the crowd erupted. Morris had announced plan B, and I was their hero. I’d saved the main event just twenty minutes after I last fought.

  The music started, this time it was AC/DC’s, You Shook Me All Night Long. The door opened. “Let’s do this,” Mace said.

  I started walking.

  The fans were in an absolute frenzy. Mace and Tyson had to fight them off just so I could get to the cage. I climbed the steps and turned and raised my right hand, pointer finger in the air. Smoke shot out from under the cage’s apron. I felt like a complete badass, just like I did years earlier in the UCC. I saw Leeza a few feet away. She was screaming for me. Even Lorenzo and his cousin Lawrence looked like they were into it. I glanced at Elizabeth. She stared up at me with her hands clasped just under her chin. God, she looked amazing. I smiled and made a kissing motion at her. A smile spread across her face.

  Then I remembered the plan. I turned and limped slightly as I entered the cage.

  “You good to go?” Jerry asked.

  I winked in response.

  A moment later, Tyrone Wilson entered the cage to the tune of Black and Yellow. I kept a grim look on my face and my head down as I limped slightly back and forth. Jerry brought us to the center of the cage. “Let’s have a good clean fight. Obey my commands at all times, and protect yourselves at all times. Any questions?”

  Tyrone and I both nodded no.

  “Alright, touch them up,” Jerry said.

  We touched gloves, and I hobbled back to my corner. Mace and Tyson were taking down my banner with Mac’s Auto squarely in the center. “A few seconds of possum, then batshit crazy,” Mace reminded.

  Jerry yelled, “Let’s fight,” for the second time within an hour. I gingerly made my way to the center of the cage. Tyson and I touched gloves. Then we backed up a bit and both circled to the right. I tossed a jab out for distance. He responded with the same. I tossed another one out, just as slow as the first. He completely ignored it.

  Then I planted my feet and rocketed off the canvas. My lead left foot covered distance forward, my left hand helped me load my right, and this happened in a split second. Tyrone recognized the Superman punch and started to back up. He was a little too late. I brought my right fist down on his chin with all my weight behind it. It drove his chin toward his chest and then his head snapped back. I saw his eyes roll toward the ceiling as he staggered backward.

  As soon as my lead foot landed, I fired a right low kick to his left leg. It sounded like a snapping board as it hit bone to flesh. He fell into the fence, left hand on the canvas and right hand up to protect himself. I blasted him with a left. He grunted loudly and tried to turn away. He was almost on all fours up against the cage. A mangy dog cowering to a bigger mangy dog.

  I turned slightly and threw another left. This one made his head bobble, and he fell onto his face. I turned and walked away. Last time we fought it was me staring up at the ceiling. This time he was staring down at the canvas.

  I ran and jumped up on the fence on the other side of the cage. I raised my hands. They almost touched the ceiling lights of the Coliseum Bar. The crowd had pushed up around the cage. They were having some kind of psychotic episode from the drug they’d just taken…me.

  The fight lasted 22 seconds. Of all my wins, it was my fastest. I jumped off the fence. Tyson scooped me up and held me high and marched me around the cage. I felt like I was already the champ once again, but there was one more thing I needed to do.

  A camera was already in my face, so I didn’t have to find it. I looked down at it, but didn’t deliver a message to Jordan Powers this time. Instead I talked to UCC matchmaker, Oliver Reed. “Mr. Reed, I’ll do the same to Jordan Powers. We all know it. I’m here, I’m ready. Give me the chance!”

  Everyone in the Coliseum that night believed I deserved it. Two victories in a total of 35 minutes and I’d won three fights in four weeks. I needed more though. I had to have more. I had to have my second shot in the UCC. I was hurtling toward it. I could taste it. Then I remembered I had to pee in a cup, and amongst the crazy excitement I’d created, my mood sank in an instant.

  Chapter 23

  It was Saturday morning, a week after my two fights. It had been about as hectic as they come. Just 20 minutes after the win over Tyrone Wilson, I’d peed in a plastic cup and prayed that I wouldn’t pop positive. I still hadn’t heard from the athletic commission, and since it was Saturday I didn’t expect to hear anything until after the weekend.

  I had heard from Leeza. She gave me a hug after the fight that lingered too long for Lorenzo’s liking. Elizabeth didn’t exactly like it either. Leeza had also texted me or called almost every day. When she dropped Sam off the day before, she came in for a while just to hang out. She was all dolled up and sat down right next to me on the couch. I felt uncomfortable, but kind of liked the attention at the same time.

  On Sunday, I w
as tenth on ESPN’s top ten plays. Apparently it was the first time ever a non-UCC fighter had graced the top ten.

  On Monday, I went on MMA Junkie and the show was a huge success. I called out Jordan Powers, and he was on their show on Tuesday. He barely talked about Jake Sherwood. It was all about beating my ass.

  On Tuesday, I was on with Mauro. On Wednesday, I was on with Ari. I read at least a dozen articles on various MMA sites about my incredible night. And I was sure it was killing Jordan to see me getting so much attention.

  Also on Wednesday, I received a call from Lex McNeil, Jake Sherwood’s agent. He wasn’t as nice as last time when he called to ask if I’d lay low regarding my feud with Jordan. He’d said, “This is bullshit, Zane. You told me you’d back off, but you’ve done just the opposite.”

  He was right, and I told him I was sorry, but I couldn’t help the fact that Jordan was so fixated on me and that I had won back-to-back fights.

  Then he surprised me by asking if I needed an agent. I told him I was with Morris, and that seemed to piss him off even more since Morris wasn’t really an actual agent.

  Now it was a sunny Saturday morning, and I was in the car. Sam was in the backseat. We were driving toward Mr. Lex McNeil, at least I assumed he’d be there. The UCC pre-fight press conference was going down in Oklahoma City at one in the afternoon. I hadn’t told anybody I was going. I’d just decided that I had to be there. If I got a chance I would stir the pot, and hopefully get to talk with UCC matchmaker Oliver Reed or even UCC president Nick Lewis. I felt like I was beating on their door, but was disappointed that they had yet to answer.

  “Daddy, I’ve got to go pee,” Sam said over the sound of the movie on my iPad.

  “Really? We’ve been driving for just 45 minutes, sugar.”

  “I know, but I drank a lot of juice,” she said.

  I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was already almost noon, and we still had at least an hour to drive.